


Enchanting

by Lyricoloratura



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Greg Lestrade, Fluff and Humor, Greg Lestrade is a Man of Hidden Talents, M/M, Magic (but not really), Mycroft Finds a Surprise Soft Spot (and it's a bunch of kids), Mycroft is Enchanted, Mystery Magician, and they fall in love, because of course they do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyricoloratura/pseuds/Lyricoloratura
Summary: Mycroft is obligated to attend (shudder) a magic show that is being put on for a group of (shudder, shudder) children.  There's no getting out of it; he's stuck.  Little does he imagine that he would find the mysterious magician to be not only a truly gifted showman, but funny and utterly fascinating.  How on earth could it be that Mycroft Holmes, who knows EVERYTHING, somehow can't identify this new man who has him completely enchanted?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	Enchanting

It was nonsense, pure and simple. 

There was no reason -- no reason whatsoever -- that any actual representative of the Holmes family would need to appear at what was clearly a very minor event sponsored by the family’s charitable foundation. Obviously, this was Mummy and Rudy being petty and vengeful because Mycroft had found a perfectly reasonable excuse not to attend Aunt Marguerite’s 89th birthday party, which had by all accounts been a lovely, colourful affair. 

Well… at least colourful. Aunt Marguerite had posted the most charming photos on her Instagram account (and bravo to her for embracing modern technology!) of each of the guests after they’d each had an up-close and personal encounter with the…

With the…

Mycroft couldn’t even think about it without chortling in a rather undignified manner.

There had been an actual, honest-to-goodness face painter. Aunt Marguerite (lovely, childless, and did we mention _multimillionaire_ Aunt Marguerite) had absolutely _insisted_ that each of the guests take advantage of the artist’s… artistry. 

It had to be said that Mummy had looked charming painted as a vividly yellow (though exceedingly annoyed) butterfly, and Uncle Rudy had made a truly striking (albeit humiliated) rainbow unicorn. The photos of each of them on Aunt Marguerite’s Instagram would be something Mycroft would treasure for many years to come. (He’d made quite sure of that, having taken multiple screenshots lest -- heaven forbid -- the photos might be taken down in the future.)

It was certainly _not_ his fault that he’d been called to Brussels for what could have been some very important business (really, it could have), and had to miss the festivities. And of course he’d never have Sherlock’s damnable luck; Aunt Marguerite actively loathed him, and wouldn’t have invited him even had he wished to attend. (Of _course_ Sherlock didn’t wish to attend. _No one_ wished to attend.)

But Mummy and Rudy had been in an absolute snit over Mycroft having managed to miss the Party From Hell -- and he had to admit that he’d made a shocking lapse in diplomacy when he’d laughed rather too gleefully at the images of Butterfly Mummy and Unicorn Rudy. 

And their snit was what had led to this ridiculous situation; he was sitting, perched on a tiny plastic chair in a windowless, depressing little jumped-up hospital meeting room that was pretending to be an auditorium of some sort. He was sitting there next to the unspeakable toady Talbot Throckmorton, who prided himself (repeatedly and loudly) upon being the chief administrator of the Holmes Charitable Foundation. 

Mummy and Rudy had been most insistent that an event sponsored by the Holmes Foundation absolutely, _unquestionably_ had to have a member of the Holmes family in attendance -- and of course, that member was absolutely, _unquestionably_ going to have to be Mycroft. 

Clearly, Death by Throckmorton was their idea of vengeance for Mycroft’s having missed the face painting.

Damn them both, anyway.

The room was beginning to fill up with children -- children who, Mycroft was given to understand, were long-term patients at this facility, and whose care was being in some way underwritten by the Foundation.

Today, they were making their way into the depressing auditorium for entertainment which was _also_ evidently being underwritten by the Foundation. (Throckmorton had had a great deal to say about it, and Mycroft was not going to feel badly for having ignored almost every word of it.)

Fortunately, listening in on the conversations of the children as they arrived was, surprisingly, far more entertaining and certainly more informative.

“It’s gonna be the Rando again, yeah?”

“Of course it is! He’s the only one you’d be seeing this many kids coming down to see -- and God love him, the crazy bugger always comes to visit us whenever he can.”

“He ain’t no crazy bugger, Jake -- he’s an ‘artiste.’ Best magician any of us are ever gonna see, and that’s a fact.”

“Aw, go on, Nick -- just because you wanna be a crazy bugger just like him.”

“Nah. Don’t get me wrong -- Rando is the absolute best. But even so, I don’t wanna be just like anybody, yeah? I wanna be just like me.” 

Mycroft decided that he rather appreciated young Nicholas’ philosophy. With a quick glimpse over his shoulder, he determined that both Nicholas and Jacob were likely in their early teens, and likely both in the midst of treatment for some form of childhood cancer.

He admired both boys’ _joie de vivre_ in spite of what had to be painful and frightening circumstances, and looked around the room to see the tiny chairs filling with other children who were managing to laugh and chatter to one another even though they were clearly ill, and some in significant pain.

Swallowing on the sudden and completely unexpected thickness in his throat, Mycroft decided that he would make some inquiries into the good works the Holmes Foundation was doing, and whether in fact there might not be more they could do.

“Where’s Olivia, then?” Jake was shouting across the room to a group of girls who were settling in. They looked at one another, smiled slyly, and burst into laughter.

“She ain’t comin’, is she? She don’t dare, not after what happened last time.”

Hmmmm… that sounded rather ominous. Had this magician done a trick -- or something else -- to frighten or upset the children? 

Mycroft shook his head at himself; it wasn’t at all like him to feel protective of anyone, much less strangers. And most certainly not children, with whom he had as little to do as humanly possible ever since having survived Sherlock’s youth. And yet, here he was -- getting his feathers ruffled for what was likely no good reason at all.

Besides, Jake was about to get the information for him. “Whaddya mean, ‘what happened last time’? I didn’t hear about anything.”

One of the older girls, evidently the self-appointed spokesperson, chimed in. “Remember when Rando did that trick with the cake? And that awful nurse -- you know, the one what gives us all the aggro -- he had her do the trick with him?”

“Do I remember? Sarah, that’s all any of us talked about for the rest of the month! And the look on Nurse Tight-Arse’s face afterwards whenever one of us would try to be oh, so generous and offer her a piece of cake? Nothing better than that -- but what about Olivia?”

“Ahhh, Jakey -- she laughed so hard she weed herself, and just about died of the embarrassment. Now she don’t dare come down and see Rando, because what if he does it again? She’s afraid she’d never live it down if she pissed herself again -- but you know as well as I do it’s a near thing for any of us with that one, because he’s just that funny.” 

Young Sarah was shaking her head with a smile that made it clear that her reminiscences were enjoyable indeed -- and just like that, Mycroft’s qualms were soothed.

Now, he had only to admit to himself that he was enormously curious to meet this seemingly fascinating (or at least as described by this adolescent audience) magician.

Though, what kind of name was “Rando”?


End file.
